


3 doors down

by mochibbh



Category: NCT (Band), WayV (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Childhood Friends, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Light Angst, M/M, Side Doyoung/Johnny, implied jaehyun/winwin, side doyoung/johnny/kun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:27:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25903558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mochibbh/pseuds/mochibbh
Summary: “For the last time, Yuu—” He gives him an extra strong squeeze so Yuta knows,reallyknows he’s not alone. “I’m sure.”🌼🌼🌼Since Ten has seen Yuta: sixteen years.Ten was never expecting to see Yuta again, so he’s not exactly sure what to do when he finds out Yuta lives three doors down from his apartment in Seoul.
Relationships: Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten & Qian Kun, Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Nakamoto Yuta
Comments: 13
Kudos: 115
Collections: the eyes are the window to the soul





	3 doors down

**Author's Note:**

> i present u with a yuten that i've been working on for a while now !! if u read, please let me know your thoughts in the comments/my cc/twt !
> 
> **trigger warning:** mentions of abuse
> 
> title taken from fickle friend's [Swim.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UQjbNrUCYA0)
> 
> _"it's the same, it's just like then_  
>  _when i was nine, and you were ten"_

Ten spends his twenty-fifth birthday with Kun and Sicheng, surrounded by piles of unpacked moving boxes and empty beer bottles.

“I’m not gonna lie, I’m kinda glad you didn’t wanna go out to celebrate tonight,” Sicheng admits, holding the neck of his fourth beer to his lips. “I’m so fucking tired.”

“We’re _all_ fucking tired,” Kun corrects. He grabs a fried chicken leg from the bucket that sits in the middle of them, waving it around in the air as he talks. “I know it’s not like we flied the damn plane or anything, but flying always makes me exhausted.” He stuffs the chicken into his mouth and washes down his bites with more beer.

Ten finishes his chicken and wipes the grease off of his lips with the back of his hand, tossing the bone into a plastic bag filled with other chicken bones. “Lugging all these boxes up here probably didn’t help any,” Ten suggests, wearily gazing at the boxes behind Sicheng’s head. He snatches Kun’s beer out of his hands and takes a swig, ignoring the other’s whining. “Don’t even wanna think about unpacking all of our shit.”

“Why would you even bring that up,” Sicheng complains as Kun swipes his beer back and holds it against his chest protectively. “We’re lucky that Kun was smart enough to order our beds before we got here so it would be shipped in time, otherwise we’d be sleeping on the hardwood tonight.”

“Like you haven’t slept in worst places,” Ten smirks, nudging Sicheng with his foot.

Sicheng makes a face and scoots further away from Ten’s offending toes. “Speak for yourself.”

Ten feels the tipsiness from the alcohol start to give way to tiredness instead, and he wraps his arms around Kun from the side, rubbing his cheek against the other’s arm. “Thank you two for celebrating with me,” he slurs sleepily, “and thank you for following me all the way to Seoul from New York.”

Sicheng coos and says, “Of course, Tennie,” at the same time Kun shrugs and says, “It was convenient, anyways.” He laughs at Ten’s half-hearted attempts to shove him away and throws an arm back around Ten to keep them in place. “Kidding. I mean, it _was_ convenient since Sicheng and I wanted to move here anyways, but we would have wanted you with us either way.” Kun ruffles Ten’s hair, making Ten grumble tiredly. He presses a soft kiss to the top of Ten’s head and holds him close. “You’re gonna do great. Promoting you was the best thing your company’s ever done, probably,” Kun tells him. Sicheng makes a drowsy noise of agreement.

Ten nuzzles his warm face into the smooth skin of Kun’s neck and breathes in his comforting scent of sage. “You better be right,” he murmurs.

* * *

Ten’s alarm clock beeps incessantly at fuck o’clock in the morning, and he runs around the apartment in a rush, trying to dig out his work clothes from underneath piles and piles of moving boxes and suitcases that are filled to the brim. He leaves the apartment a mess, knowing he’ll have to deal with Kun’s yelling later, but it’ll have to wait.

Work is new and bigger and intimidating, but Ten is nothing if not determined, so he faces his nerves head on. He goes through his greetings and introductions in Korean much more smoothly than he did when he was six and doing it all in English, committing the words, “I’m Ten from the New York branch, and I’m the new head director of creative design for the Seoul branch from now on. Please take care of me,” easily to memory by his sixth introduction to someone new.

The names of others, though, are proving to be more of a struggle up until the twelfth-ish person, who’s a young man in Ten’s department. He’s the youngest guy Ten has seen so far, and he’s tall as fuck with charcoal hair that falls across his forehead lightly. “I’m Johnny,” he introduces, and Ten has to crane his neck to look at Johnny’s face. “I’m the head photographer, and I hire the models that end up modeling our products. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” Johnny wears a warm grin, and Ten relaxes his shoulders immediately. He didn’t even realize how tense he was until Johnny lets go of his hand.

“I have a friend who’s coming in for the modeling audition this Thursday,” Ten mentions, taking the opportunity to talk up his friend. “It would be his first time modelling in Korea, but he’s done it plenty for companies in China, America, and a few in Thailand. Oh, he walked in Tokyo Fashion Week for 2017 and 2018,” he tacks on.

“Oh?” Johnny’s eyebrows raise in interest. “What’s his name? I’ve already gone through everyone’s applications for this Thursday.”

“Qian Kun.”

Ten watches the corner of Johnny’s lip twitch up. “Kun’s application stood out from his international experience,” Johnny says, reaching over towards his desk for a manila file and rifling through papers until he finds what he’s looking for. Ten sees some examples from Kun’s portfolio printed onto the pages and smirks, having helped Kun pick a lot of those photos himself. “I’ve been anticipating seeing his audition.”

“He’ll show you just how good he is,” Ten promises, looking at the way Johnny’s eyes linger on the photos before he sets the papers back down onto his desk. “He’s a talent you won’t want to miss out on,” he says, trying to lay on the praise before the opportunity slips away.

There’s a glint in Johnny’s eye. “And if he doesn’t walk the talk?”

Ten grins. “He will,” he says, confidence unwavering.

A boy who’s talking on the phone walks by and does a quick double-take at Ten’s chest. “Tie’s loose,” he mumbles, and before Ten can do anything about it, the boy is reaching out and fixing it for him without another word. He pats Ten’s tie when he’s done and continues to walk past, carrying on with his conversation on the phone.

Ten turns his head and watches him go, a question on his face. “That’s Renjun, lead designer for the packaging of our products. He’s probably on the phone with Jisung or Jaemin, a couple of our models, trying to get them to come in so he can test model some packaging drafts,” Johnny explains with a sigh. “I’ll probably have more work to do soon,” he laments, tilting his head back and groaning.

Ten huffs out a laugh through his nose. “Sounds fun,” he muses. “Can I join?”

Johnny’s face brightens. “You’re the boss. Of course.” 

* * *

“My coworker wants to get into your pants so bad,” is the first thing Ten says when he comes home that day.

Kun whips his head up as he strums the wrong chord on his guitar. “Your what wants to _what?”_ he echoes in disbelief.

Ten messily rids himself of his shoes and suit so he can flop down onto the floor next to Kun and tiredly place his head on his shoulder. “My coworker, Johnny. He’s head of photography and he hires all the models, so he saw your application. It was so obvious he wanted to fuck you,” Ten sighs wistfully.

“What’d you say his name was?”

Ten lifts his head off of Kun’s shoulder to give him a confused look. “Johnny. Why?”

Kun’s eyebrows furrow, mirroring Ten’s confusion, so Ten prods further. “Is that a problem? I guess that _is_ a pretty white name…”

“Huh? No, it’s not—I mean…” Kun trails off, thinking. “It’s just, I met one of our neighbors earlier. He lives a few doors down, and his name is Doyoung. He has a two more roommates, but they weren’t around when I saw him. He said one of them actually works in the business sector of your company. Think his name is Jaehyun.”

“Oh, I didn’t get around to introducing myself to them today. Would be nice to meet someone else there around my age,” Ten muses. “Why’s that got you all bothered though?”

“It’s not that, it’s—” Kun bites his lower lip. “Doyoung said his boyfriend’s name is Johnny. Who also works at your company.”

Ten shrugs against him, pulling the guitar from Kun’s lap into his own. “Could be a coincidence. Johnny’s a common enough name. And if it turns out to be the same guy, we can bust his ass if he ever makes a move on you. No big deal.”

“I don’t exactly want to be a homewrecker,” Kun says, automatically fidgeting with Ten’s fingers on the frets of his guitar into the right positions. Ten strums an F and randomly goes from there.

“It’s probably the wrong guy anyways, don’t worry about it,” Ten says, pinching his eyebrows together to try and concentrate on the chords. “Hey, you didn’t ask me about my first day,” he pouts, stopping his hands on the guitar.

Kun scoffs and takes the instrument back, re-tuning each of the chords because that’s something he has to do every time someone else plays it. “ _You’re_ the one who immediately jumped into a conversation about how one of your coworkers apparently wants to fuck me,” he accuses. He finishes tuning the last chord, and he nods to himself in satisfaction. “How was your day?” he asks anyways.

“Tiring, but interesting,” Ten answers quickly. “I got to watch Johnny—as in ‘probably not our neighbor’s boyfriend’ Johnny—photograph a couple of the models that Renjun called over. Renjun is the lead designer for the packaging, by the way. He’s fun. They’re all fun.” Ten nods like he’s just decided that. “I’m jealous that Sicheng gets one more week until he starts. Hey, he’s gonna be in accounting, maybe he’ll meet that other neighbor you were talking about.” He looks around at their apartment, still filled with unpacked boxes, but looking slightly more livable than the night before. “Where is Sicheng, anyways?”

“Napping. He helped me unpack all day, so he’s tired,” Kun explains, strumming the guitar softly.

“You’re not going to nap?”

“No. I _will_ have a normal sleep schedule, I will _not_ succumb to jetlag,” Kun says determinedly, even though his red-rimmed eyes say otherwise.

Ten shrugs. “Okay, well, jetlag has won its battle with me, so I’m definitely going to nap,” he says as he stands and starts walking to his room.

“I’m giving you an hour, then you have to come out and help me unpack the rest!” he hears Kun yell from behind him. 

Ten groans, but complies. An hour is enough for now.

* * *

Jaehyun is, for some reason, hotter than what Ten pictured in his head when he meets him a week later, but he doesn’t know why, considering all of his coworkers that he’s met around his age are horrifyingly attractive. He has lavender hair that’s taken on a faded hue over time, and Jaehyun pulls it off wonderfully.

He can tell he’s not the only one who thinks so, either—Sicheng may put on a good poker face to everyone else, but Ten knows him well enough to know when he has a crush. Ten can already tell it’ll all go well considering how red Jaehyun’s ears go as he stutters his way through his introduction to Sicheng.

“I can’t believe you _both_ already have people who want to fuck you. It hasn’t even been a month yet!” Ten whines, collapsing less onto their new couch and more onto Kun with his whole body.

“Ow,” Kun grunts while Sicheng just smiles at Ten with a blank face from their armchair. Kun maneuvers Ten’s body into a more comfortable position for both of them, and the two of them end up lying side by side with Ten’s head tucked under his chin. “Do I need to remind you that Johnny is indeed Doyoung’s boyfriend? You know, Doyoung, our lovely neighbor?” Kun mumbles dejectedly. His modelling audition last Thursday went great, but Kun learned through conversation with Johnny that he really is Doyoung’s boyfriend, much to Kun’s slight disappointment.

Ten shrugs against his side. “I could still tell he was into you. And you shouldn’t fuck him, but at least he looked like he wanted to. It’s the thought that counts, or something,” he says, voice muffled into Kun’s skin.

He heckles his roommates about it a lot, but Ten does it more for the fun of it and less because he actually cares. With the way Doyoung _and_ Johnny both look at Kun, Ten thinks there’s not as much to worry about as Kun thinks, and it’s obvious that Sicheng and Jaehyun are well on their way to _something_ that Ten can see unfolding from a mile away.

Ten knows that leaves him alone, in that weird way that makes a shallow gap in his heart somewhere, but it’s not something he thinks too much about. He has his work, his friends, and a new city, and as far as he’s concerned, he’s fulfilled. 

* * *

He’s only been at his new job for two months, but Ten wouldn’t describe it as anything less than a dream. Because of his position, he works the most with others from the creative design sector, which means he’s actually surrounded by people in his age group. They all keep Ten on his toes with their energy and constant ideas, always busy with new things to work on and plan for, which is exactly how Ten likes it. He’s working with the most talented team he’s ever encountered, and they all mesh well with each other, creatively and otherwise.

On top of all that, Ten is halfway into convincing Johnny to hire Kun as a permanent model on their rotation (although Johnny doesn’t need much convincing, not with the way his eyes turn into hearts whenever Kun glances his way), and if Ten ever wants to see Sicheng, he just has to go up two floors to the accounting sector and bug him. It’s perfect.

He was waiting for the other shoe to drop, and it finally did earlier in the day, two months into his perfect new life. 

“I’d like to propose a 3 million won budget for the upcoming shoe line promotions,” Ten had started, addressing a room half-full of higher-ups. “Please let me know if there are any concerns with this amount.”

“Yeah, that’s too much,” Mr. Shu said back, rolling his eyes. Ten had to fight not to roll his eyes right back at him, the head of budgeting, whom Ten had a suspicion hated him and his younger coworkers. 

Ten politely rose an eyebrow in question. “Then we can try to make do with 10% less than the proposal, but I believe that the project would truly flourish if—”

“A 10% decrease is still too big of a budget for this project. Make it 25%,” Mr. Shu interrupted sharply, insistently.

Ten felt the corner of his lips turn down into a slight frown, and the beginnings of a headache started forming in his temples. “Can you explain to me why the proposed budget for this particular project is too much? I’d like to understand,” he prodded, even though he was already struggling against gritting his teeth. He’d talked over the budget with Sicheng and Jaehyun a million times in the last week to make sure this exact situation wouldn’t occur.

The old man had scoffed in his seat. “The 25% will be used elsewhere, like construction, or our tech budget. Besides, your team could do with less, it’ll make you more creative.” His mouth curved up in a sneer. Ten wanted to pull the limbs off of his person.

“Construction on _what?_ We have no plans to build any further,” the CEO, Zhang Yixing, chimed in confusedly. “We also have a surplus in our tech budget that could be going to our marketing sector.” He cocked his head in question, then turned towards Ten. “Your proposed budget is granted.”

Before Ten could thank him, Mr. Shu jumped up from his seat, teeth bared. “You can’t keep giving these positions to these kids who don’t know what they’re doing. You’ve even started hiring them in accounting,” he shouted, glaring down the CEO.

Ten had _known_ he was referring to Jaehyun and Sicheng, and he felt his jaw clench. “You still have a higher position, what’s the fussing about?” Yixing sighed. “Meeting adjourned for now, we’ll continue at a later date designated in an email by Chanyeol or Baekhyun within the next few days,” he said, addressing the room at large. “You’re all dismissed.” His eyes drifted over to the old man, who was still stood, fuming in place. “Mr. Shu, you can stay.”

So Ten is satisfied, at least, that the CEO will give Mr. Shu what he deserves—he trusts Yixing enough already to do that. But he’s still pissed that someone attempted to humiliate him in front of everyone else in that room. Ten knows what he’s capable of, and he would show Mr. Shu, show _everyone,_ that he was worthy of his position.

It drove him to work harder throughout the day, taking on more tasks and never stopping for a second. He ended up assisting Johnny on a shoot that lasted longer than anyone anticipated, leaving everyone involved exhausted by the end of it.

Seven hours later, he’s walking up the stairs to his apartment since the building’s elevator broke at some point during the day, leaving Ten no option but to climb the outdoor staircase on wobbly legs. When he’s almost to the top of the six flights, at 11 PM, he sort of wants to cry, but decides it can wait until he’s at least in his bedroom. He can’t believe it’s only Tuesday.

As soon as Ten rounds the corner, someone rams into him and knocks him backwards, towards the stairs. Ten feels his foot lose balance on the edge of the stair, and he reaches an arm out in an attempt to remain upright, but it’s futile as his body tilts back, back, back—

“Shit,” the stranger who ran into him curses. He grabs Ten’s outstretched hand and pulls him towards himself with enough force to not only keep Ten from falling down the stairs, but instead fall forward so that he topples onto the stranger.

Ten gasps and squeezes his eyes shut as his chest collides with the other and they fall back. He instinctively cups the back of the stranger’s head to keep it from hitting the concrete and feels his knuckles make contact with the ground instead. His other hand lands on the side of the stranger’s head, the rough ground scraping his palm, and he hisses while he feels his knees come into harsh contact with the ground on either side of the other’s hips.

The two of them freeze on the ground at the top of the stairs together, catching their breath. Ten finally opens his eyes to look down at the man who almost sent him flying down the stairs, tell him to be more fucking careful, but his mouth only opens partway. He takes in the man underneath him—he’s familiar, but distantly so, and it’s not until Ten looks into his eyes that he realizes.

Sixteen years.

Sixteen years since he’d seen those bright eyes and shining hair, that blinding smile and those pink lips. Bandaged knuckles and wounded kneecaps, gleeful laughter and warm breezes, cool water and orange dragonflies—it all comes rushing back to Ten with one look at the man and it leaves him breathless, the rest of the world’s noises fading into nothing until all Ten can see and hear is the man with the chestnut hair and a thin, golden necklace around his neck that disappears underneath his T-shirt. His cheeks are hollower than the last time Ten saw him when he was nine, his jaw sharper and arms leaner, but his round eyes are the same: dark and gleaming, inquisitive, warm.

Beautiful.

“A-are you okay? Are you hurt at all?” the other asks, eyes wide and flitting over Ten’s body to check for injury. Their faces are a breath apart, and Ten should answer him and say he’s fine, but all he can do is stare. He hovers over the man’s body and remembers that his hand is still behind the other’s head, cupping it protectively against the concrete. Ten wants to pet through his hair like he used to all those years ago, but he doesn’t.

“Maybe you can be the one to bandage _me_ up, for once,” Ten says before he can stop himself. His voice comes out in wobbly English, but it’s easy for him to chalk it up to the pain in his hands and knees. He hears when the man sucks in a breath in surprise, recognition flashing over his face.

“Tennie?” Ten feels the other’s breath on his lips.

He breathes out a laugh against the man’s face. He feels a little queasy, like he’s dreaming up something impossible. The pain in his hands thrum dully in time with his heartbeat, and his lips pull up in a small smile despite feeling like his heart is being squeezed as he breathes out, “You should watch where you’re going, Yuta.”

🌼🌼🌼

For Ten, there’s nothing more exciting than hearing a new kid introduce themselves in front of the class.

What Ten didn’t know before is that there’s something even more exciting: a new _foreign_ kid introducing themselves in class.

He listens on with wide, eager eyes to the boy’s introduction. His accent is heavy, but Ten can tell he studied really hard because he had to do this himself a year earlier. He can easily recall all the nights he spent re-wording and memorizing the same phrases over and over, falling asleep and dreaming in Thai and broken English.

“I’m Yuta,” the boy in front introduces, smile lively even though he pronounces the English words with difficulty. “I’m from Japan. I’m…” He pauses to count on his fingers in Japanese, then in English. “… Eight years old. I like soccer.” Yuta gives everyone a cheerful grin, puffing his chest out proudly and looking at the teacher to signify that he’s finished.

“Say hello to Yuta, everyone, and make friends with him!” the teacher instructs.

“Hi Yuta!” the class drawls, some more enthusiastically than others. Ten is so mesmerized by the idea of a new kid in class that he forgets to say hi with everyone else.

The teacher points Yuta to his new desk in the back of the class, and Ten tries not to sulk; he wanted to sit next to Yuta, but the only empty desk was in the back row, nowhere near him.

He does his best to wait patiently until recess to approach Yuta, maneuvering his way around other interested classmates who try to talk to him. Ten picks up a soccer ball out of the ball basket on his way to the other and stops once he and Yuta are face to face.

Yuta seems a little overwhelmed, trying his hardest to keep up with everyone’s questions in their rapid-fire English, but Ten holds the ball out in front of him towards Yuta to get his attention. “Play?” Ten asks simply.

He watches Yuta’s face light up into the brightest smile he’s ever seen as he nods so vigorously, Ten thinks his head might fall off.

🌼🌼🌼

“It’s nice in here,” is the first thing Ten says when he settles in Yuta’s apartment; he says it in Korean, his mind too frazzled to codeswitch fully to English. Looking around his scenery helps keep him grounded, since he can always tell when a nicely decorated space had intent behind it, and this apartment is one of those spaces. It’s minimalistic and pretty with thoughtfully placed flowers and other plants on some surfaces and pops of solidly colored furniture to make the apartment feel more homey. Ten sighs in satisfaction at the palette chosen for the space overall, and his eyes land on the bar stools that are all variations of light blues and purples. One in the middle of them is a bright yellow, and the corner of Ten’s lips quirk up. “I assume that was you?” Ten jerks his chin in the direction of the stool.

Yuta returns from the hallway with a first-aid kit in his hands. “Huh?” He turns his head to see where Ten is looking. “Oh, yeah. I wanted to piss Doyoung off,” he explains, sitting by Ten on the couch and opening up the kit. “But I also just liked it. You’ve met Doyoung, yeah?” He rips open a packet and pulls out an alcohol wipe, holding up his hand for Ten.

Ten looks at the upturned palm and places his own wounded one in it. “Yeah. Have you seen the way he looks at my roommate?” He doesn’t flinch as Yuta wipes his knuckles with the pad of alcohol, switching to his other hand to wipe his reddened palm swiftly.

Yuta tosses the wipes in a nearby trash bin and takes out some bandages. “No, but I hear the way he talks about him,” Yuta grimaces. He finishes applying the bandages on Ten’s palm and knuckles, so he clicks the kit shut. “Which is a problem, by the way. Doyoung has a boyfriend,” he says, like Ten doesn’t know.

Ten takes his hands back for himself and holds one to his chest, rubbing his wrist. “If you saw the way Johnny looked at Kun, you wouldn’t think so,” Ten winks. He clenches and unclenches his hands to test his mobility and nods to himself. “Thanks for this. I was joking when I said you should patch me up this time.”

“Well, I do owe you for all the times you used to help me. You put up much less of a fuss than you would’ve back then,” Yuta smirks.

“How would you know? You were always the one getting into trouble,” Ten huffs as he stands from the couch. “I better go, it’s late and I still have work tomorrow. Speaking of the time, where were you headed?” Ten asks, remembering how he bumped into Yuta in the first place.

“Oh, nowhere,” Yuta answers. “You’re right, it’s late, I won’t keep you here any longer. Oh, what’s your number?” he asks, pulling out his phone from his jacket pocket quickly.

Ten blinks. “My number?”

Yuta hands Ten his phone, the screen filled with cracks. He wears a confused expression at Ten’s echo. “Yeah, so I can contact you whenever. Let’s hangout.”

He says it with so much nonchalance that it almost throws Ten off balance, but he still takes Yuta’s phone and inputs his own number anyways. He hands it back, careful not to get his fingers caught on the cracks in the glass, and checks his own phone for the message he texted himself from Yuta’s phone.

Yuta receives his phone back with a smile, saying, “Thanks,” and slipping it back into his pocket. “Don’t be a stranger, Tennie. My home is your home,” he says while Ten haphazardly sticks his feet back into his shoes.

Ten brings up his right hand and rubs the bandages on his knuckles. “… Yeah. I’ll see you,” he says, letting himself out.

There’s silence in the hall of their building, save for the sound of the occasional car driving past. Ten walks the few feet down towards his own apartment and lets himself in, grateful for the quiet of a sleeping household as he makes his way to his bedroom. He doesn’t bother getting into his pajamas tonight, only shedding his clothes down to his briefs until he’s collapsed into his bed and curling himself around the sheets. He brings his phone up to his face and stares at Yuta’s new contact in his phone until exhaustion wins over and his eyes slip closed.

🌼🌼🌼

“My house today,” is what Yuta says as soon as the bell rings. Kids are all busy grabbing their workbooks and stuffing them into their backpacks, rushing out of their classrooms. Ten looks up as he puts his last workbook into his desk and slings his backpack over his shoulder. Yuta is looking down at him expectantly, hands on the handles of his bag.

“Oh, okay,” Ten answers. He doesn’t think it really matters all that much; he realized within Yuta’s first few days here that the two of them were neighbors in the same apartment building, so Ten often invited Yuta to his place. His grandmother loved Yuta anyways, so it was never a problem to keep going to Ten’s apartment instead of Yuta’s. “Why?” he asks.

Yuta waits for Ten to stand from his seat before holding his hand and leading him out of the classroom. “Always at your place,” he answers. “Dad wants to meet you again.”

Ten makes a noise of understanding, letting Yuta lead him hand in hand out of the school and towards their apartment complex, not far from where they are now. He eyes the lake on the far end of town, watching the sun send glimmers of light off of the surface of the gentle waves. “We should go to the lake this weekend. It’ll be too cold to swim, soon,” Ten mentions.

“Weekend?” Yuta echoes, cocking his head.

“Saturday, Sunday, sometimes Friday,” Ten answers automatically. Yuta nods and repeats _weekend_ to himself a few times before nodding again. “We can go into the woods today, right? I want to see if our plant has grown at all,” Ten asks, hoping Yuta’s dad will give them permission to explore the woods in their backyard.

Yuta nods. “I want to see, too,” he agrees. He makes a small _ah_ noise like he just remembered something and turns to Ten with wide eyes. “My house is your house,” he says with a grin.

Ten quirks an eyebrow at him. “Thanks?” he says in response.

Yuta swings their hands in between the two of them. “Dad taught me that. He said you can come over anytime, so that means ‘my house is your house.’” He beams at Ten.

“Oh, right. You used it right, good job.” Ten squeezes Yuta’s hand and Yuta giggles. “If your house is my house, I’m going to eat all of your snacks,” he threatens.

Yuta protests and whines the rest of the way to his apartment, making Ten laugh playfully.

🌼🌼🌼

Ten wakes up with oily hair and a greasy face when his alarm goes off earlier than usual, meaning he has to skip breakfast if he wants to show up early, clean and presentable, especially after the shit-show meeting the day before. Kun helps him apply concealer under his eyes in between quips about how Ten works too late that Ten answers with slow blinks and hollow _“yes’s”_ that make Kun sigh. He leaves before Sicheng instead of with him because the design department is starting a new project, and Ten needs all the time he can get to begin preparing for it.

There’s hardly another soul at the office when Ten arrives. He’s not surprised to see Renjun at his usual desk, but to see his head repeatedly slamming against the surface is a little worrying.

Ten approaches warily and grabs a fistful of Renjun’s hair to get him to stop ramming it against his desk. “What goes on?” he asks the younger, knowing he probably sounds the way Renjun’s currently acting. He loosens his grip and smooths the hair back down, hoping the action helps calm whatever’s going on in Renjun’s head.

It seems to work, if only marginally, since Renjun stops and sighs, closing his eyes. “We need to run six more designs by Yixing for the new shoe line by the end of the day since shooting for promotions start next Monday,” Renjun grits through his teeth. “And I’ve barely started with package design, which are due by Friday.” He slouches down in his chair until he’s almost completely underneath the table. “I fucking suck at shoe design,” he grumbles.

“Isn’t Seulgi best at shoe design? She and I can work on those while you focus on beta packaging,” Ten offers.

Renjun groans. “Seulgi’s out on medical leave because she broke her hands. Both of them! She can’t even hold a pen,” he exclaims. “And Dejun is worse than me when it comes to shoe design. We’re so fucked.” Renjun keeps sliding down his chair until he’s fully lying in a heap on the floor.

Ten hums thoughtfully. “How many designs has Yixing approved so far?”

“Two,” Renjun mumbles from the ground. “Both from Seulgi, before she broke her damn hands. Need two more.”

“Okay, then start on the beta packaging for the approved designs to run by Yixing before Friday. Dejun and I will work together on six new designs before the end of the day,” Ten tells Renjun, pulling him by the arm off of the floor.

Renjun looks at him skeptically. “I’m telling you, Dejun is useless at shoe design. He may be the god of T-shirts and belts, but he cannot design a shoe to save his life.”

“You’re making him sound completely inept,” Ten rolls his eyes. “I’ll get Yangyang to help on a few too, if that makes you feel any better. Trust me, we’ll get them done. You should focus on the packaging for the approved designs,” he assures, moving to his own desk. “That way Johnny will know who to call in for the modeling sooner than later.” He flops into his chair and logs into his desktop; sure enough there are two emails from Chanyeol, one that reads _“Yixing wants six more designs by the end of Wednesday (today) so he can approve two more. Final package design for each approved shoes are due this Friday so we can start shooting on Monday. Let me know if it’s too much, I can work something out! :)”_ and one more that reads _“Oh also Seulgi is on medical leave until further notice for breaking several bones in her fingers on both of her hands :(”_

Ten huffs out a laugh through his nose. “How is Chanyeol the nicest PA to ever exist while Baekhyun is a little demon?” he murmurs to himself. Renjun grunts out a _“right?”_ as Ten’s phone pings with a text. It’s the start of the day, and he hasn’t begun anything yet, so he lets himself check the message.

**_yuta  
_ ** _hope you have a good day! :)_

Ten purses his lips at the text before responding.

**_me  
_ ** _thx, u too_

He puts his phone on silent and pockets it, not even realizing the grin that’s taken over his face before he gets started on his first design.

* * *

No one really knows when Yixing actually leaves the office, so Ten isn’t sure if there’s a timestamp on these designs he has to get in, but he breathes a heavy sigh of relief anyways when he and Dejun manage to submit six designs by 9 PM along with a couple of extra ones with help from Yangyang. The designs are all filled with hints of Ten’s abstract art, toned down enough for the company and the public to swallow alongside Dejun and Yangyang’s own touches for a diverse selection for Yixing to look through for approval.

Almost immediately, Ten gets a message from Chanyeol through their company’s system that says _“Yixing approved this one and is looking at the rest now !! :) [ten dejun shoe design beta 3 may20.pdf]”_

Ten grins in satisfaction and sends the file to Renjun. “Yixing approved one of Dejun’s, only need one more,” he informs Renjun, leaning back in his chair to see him.

Renjun whirls away from his desk and gives Ten a look of doubt. “ _Dejun’s_ design?” he asks skeptically.

“Hey, I’ve been practicing!” Dejun’s head pops over his computer to refute.

Another _ping_ from Ten’s computer has him distracted from the two while they go back and forth. It’s Yixing this time: _“This is the final design I’m approving. It was hard to choose, keep it up! [ten yy shoe design beta 7 may20.pdf]”_

Ten sends that design over to Renjun as well. “And now we have the final four shoe designs for packaging,” he announces. “There’s plenty of time for us to work on the package design all day tomorrow and Friday, so I’m headed out. You guys should, too. Especially you,” Ten directs at Renjun, flicking the back of his head as he stands with his collected things. “You’ve been here longer than I have today. Get some rest.” He shrugs on his jacket and tosses his empty coffee cup into the nearest bin (Renjun’s, which leaves him scowling), and turns his back on the rest of them, waving them goodbye over his shoulder.

It’s not until Ten has exited the building and said all of his goodbye’s that he realizes he hasn’t checked his phone all day, too busy with Dejun and Yangyang to look at it. He pulls it out of his back pocket and sees that there are a few unread messages from Kun and Yuta.

**_kun ge  
_ ** _Are you coming home late again? I can leave your dinner on the counter. Don’t overdo it!!_

**_yuta_   
** _let’s get lunch  
on sat  
we can do sushi_

Ten hesitates briefly, then he types out his reply as he waits for the train.

**_me  
_ ** _sounds good, u pay_

* * *

Friday rolls around quickly. Ten’s schedule is packed with no downtime, but it makes him feel fulfilled, creatively challenged. By the end of the work week, he goes home exhausted but content, knowing he and his team are evolving the look of Yixing’s company into something more inspired.

He tells Sicheng and Kun about Yuta while they eat dinner in front of their TV. “I’m going to lunch tomorrow,” he says.

Kun turns the volume of the TV down by a few notches. “Sounds good. With your coworkers?”

Ten shakes his head. “Our neighbor, Doyoung’s housemate.”

“Jaehyun?” Sicheng asks.

“No, the third one.”

Both Kun and Sicheng divert their attention away from the TV fully to look at Ten. “We’ve never met him,” Kun mentions. “Doyoung tends to pivot the conversation whenever he comes up. When did you get to meet him?”

“Tuesday night, when I got home late as fuck. He almost knocked me down the stairs, but it was fine,” Ten says, huffing out a laugh at the memory of Yuta’s face underneath his. The scrapes on his knuckles and palms have since healed over, the skin left a bit redder than the rest of him.

“Jesus, good thing you didn’t fall. Those stairs are steep,” Sicheng comments. “We don’t even know his name, and you’re already having lunch with him?”

Kun nods in agreement. “Yeah, what’s his name anyways?”

Ten chews on his bottom lip. “Yuta.” 

The two stare at him as the TV quietly drones on, and Ten shrinks between them, sinking into the couch. He holds his rice bowl closer to his chest as some sort of shield from the attention.

“Yuta, like… _the_ Yuta?” Kun asks after they’re done gaping. “Like, Yuta—”

“The reason why you’re always working yourself to death instead of going on dates?” Sicheng finishes bluntly.

Ten stuffs a bite of chicken and egg into his mouth even though he’s not really hungry. “Cutting right to the bone, are we,” he grumbles around his food.

“Sicheng,” Kun scolds lightly from Ten’s left. It’s like Ten can almost see cat ears on Sicheng’s head go flat with regret.

“Sorry,” mumbles Sicheng, laying his head on Ten’s shoulder. Ten pats Sicheng’s knee in forgiveness. “But, is it? That Yuta?” he asks, curious.

Ten sinks further into the couch and hunches his shoulders up to his ears. “Yeah.”

Kun whistles lowly. “What are the fuckin’ odds,” he says, turning away from Ten and back to the TV, “that your first and only love lives three doors down.”

* * *

Ten finally leaves the apartment the next day in a black denim jacket with a grey hoodie underneath. He’d wanted to wear something nicer, flashier, but Kun told him, “You’re going to eat sushi, not walk on the red carpet.”

So Ten finds himself dressed casually, walking out of the door and coming face to face with Yuta’s fist in the air. “Sorry, I was about to knock,” Yuta explains, shoving his hand into his jacket pocket instead. “Ready?”

Ten nods and closes the door behind him, pointedly ignoring the curious looks from Kun and Sicheng. “We’re taking the elevator,” Ten decides, walking away from the stairs and towards the elevator instead.

Yuta laughs, hot on Ten’s heels. “Good idea.”

The walk to the restaurant Yuta leads them to isn’t long, and Yuta chatters the whole way about the weather and the dog in apartment 608, Ten nodding and interjecting when appropriate. It’s a small restaurant, Ten realizes when they arrive, but it’s filled with people. Still, they get seated quickly at a small table near a window with a single white chrysanthemum in a vase on the sill.

Yuta hands Ten a paper menu. “Wanna look?” he asks.

Ten stares at Yuta’s fingers delicately holding the paper. “No, I’ll divert to you on this one,” he decides.

Yuta nods and takes the menu back, calling for a waiter immediately. He chats happily to the worker in Japanese and Ten tries to tear his eyes away from Yuta’s laughter. “What did you order?” Ten asks when the waiter has left.

“You’ll see,” Yuta says, grinning.

Ten grimaces. “I don’t like the way that sounds,” he mutters suspiciously, making Yuta pout cutely. “When’d you come to Seoul? Last I heard, you were in Chicago,” Ten asks, tracing his finger over the wood of the table lightly.

“Ah, just settled here after I was old enough to move out, you know how it is,” Yuta says, waving a hand in the air. “What do you do for work? Jaehyun said you guys are at the same company,” he asks.

Ten doesn’t miss the way he redirects the conversation back to himself, but he flows with it. “I do design. I interned for the company while I was in New York for a few years before they offered me a full-time position after I graduated. They promoted me not long ago, so I moved here with a couple of friends,” Ten explains. “They said they haven’t met you yet?”

Yuta shrugs and swirls around the tea in his cup. “Must keep missing them,” he says, taking a sip of tea.

Ten drinks his own tea and hums. “What are you doing for work?” he asks, putting his chin in his palm.

Yuta’s hands twitch on the table. “I was doing some soccer stuff, but I got hurt, so…”

“Hurt? Are you okay?” Ten asks, suddenly worried.

Yuta gives him a breathy laugh that’s without its usual mirth. “Yeah, it happened a few months ago. Getting all healed up, now. Speaking of hurt, how are your hands?” he asks, reaching across the table to examine Ten’s hands for himself.

“Fine. It was just a few scrapes, you know,” he chuckles. His hands feel small in Yuta’s stronger ones, and he tries not to fidget as Yuta turns his hand over to inspect his knuckles. “Seriously, you got in worse trouble when we were younger.” He pulls his hands back and puts them under his thighs.

Yuta laughs, really laughs, and Ten’s shoulders drop in relief. “I guess I did, didn’t I?” He smiles fondly at Ten, and Ten has to will his cheeks to remain their normal color instead of blushing pink. “So, New York? For school?” he probes, excited with interest. 

The minutes pass easily while Ten talks about going to school in New York and how he met Kun and Sicheng there. The food comes in the middle of Ten telling Yuta how Kun used to have the stiffest catwalk he’s ever seen, but Ten’s mouth waters at the tuna that gets placed on the table. He goes for the tuna sashimi immediately, eyes sparkling at the taste. He groans his appreciation for the fish around his bites, and Yuta smirks.

“Good thing I was right about tuna still being your favorite,” he says proudly, digging into his own salmon.

Ten blinks. “Yeah,” he says. “Good thing.”

🌼🌼🌼

“Grandma got sushi for dinner tonight. It’s mostly tuna, I hope that’s okay,” Ten tells Yuta.

The two of them sit outside in the dirt, tall trees surrounding them, their apartment complex not far. There’s a tiny bud sprouting where they sit, and they watch it intently like it will bloom in front of their eyes if they will it to. They planted a mystery flower seed a few weeks ago, and Ten is starting to lose hope that it will ever bud, but the sprout is promising.

“Sushi!” Yuta exclaims happily. “I like salmon, but tuna is good, too.” He pokes at the bud with his finger, and Ten swats it away.

“Tuna is my favorite,” he declares. “It’s soft.”

Yuta stands and crosses his arms. “Salmon tastes better,” he argues crossly.

Ten stands to match his height and crosses his arms to mirror him. “They taste the same! You put soy sauce on them anyways.” He smiles triumphantly, making Yuta pout.

“No, it’s different! Salmon is… slimy? Is that the word?” Yuta asks, furrowing his eyebrows.

Ten makes a face. “Gross. Do you mean, like, smooth?” he offers.

“Smooth… what’s that?”

“It’s like—” Ten purses his lips, wracking his brain for a sufficient definition. He takes Yuta’s hand and pats it on his hair. “Smooth,” he explains. He moves Yuta’s hand to the skin of his arm and drags it down. “Smooth,” he repeats. Next, he takes Yuta’s finger and kneels again, making Yuta kneel with him. He gently touches his finger to the flower bud and pets it. “Do you get it?”

Yuta nods after a moment, then puts his hand up to Ten’s cheek, stroking it softly. “Smooth?”

Ten thinks. “Hmm, this is more like…” he pinches Yuta’s cheeks in between his fingers, and Yuta yelps. “Squishy!” Ten giggles.

He spends the rest of the afternoon running from Yuta’s pinching fingers in the forest until his aunt calls them back inside for dinner.

🌼🌼🌼

Ten invites Yuta into his apartment to meet Kun and Sicheng, which Yuta does nervously and shyly, surprising Ten. Yuta had always been a bright ball of energy, having no problems confronting others or talking to them, so to see him stutter as Ten introduces him to his friends is a first.

_Age changes us all, I guess,_ Ten thinks. Thankfully, Kun and Sicheng either don’t notice or are too polite to point it out, and Yuta seems to relax the more they talk. They end up pulling up a movie on Netflix, and Kun invites Doyoung and Jaehyun, then Doyoung asks if he can bring Johnny, leading seven men to try and squeeze onto one couch.

Somehow, Ten ends up on the ground next to Johnny, and in the middle of the movie while the rest of them are arguing about the love triangle on screen, Johnny leans into Ten and whispers, “Yuta seems really comfortable with you. He even got out of the house in daylight today. I’m glad.”

Ten furrows his eyebrows, confused, but he nods nonetheless. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Yuta in the armchair arguing animatedly with Jaehyun.

_Age changes everyone,_ he reminds himself.

* * *

Yuta and Ten hang out as regularly as Ten’s busy work schedule allows in the next couple months. In between being with his coworkers and letting Yuta help him on his designs at home, his life feels louder than it ever has before. It’s a change, but a welcome one.

But Ten notices Yuta’s deflections every time he or Kun try to ask him about himself, and it’s starting to wear him thin.

His work is creatively fulfilling, but exhausting. When he’s not working, he’s hanging out with Yuta wondering if he’s going crazy for wanting answers for the years of radio silence between them, but Yuta seems content to carry on like they’ve known each other their whole lives. Is Ten wrong for wanting those answers? Does Yuta owe him answers in the first place?

“Why is it bothering me so much?” Ten shouts into one of the couch pillows. “It’s not like he’s ignoring me or pretending he doesn’t know me, so what’s bothering me?” he laments, his words muffled by the pillow.

Kun sips on coffee in the arm chair and watches Ten groan into the couch. “Maybe because you’re his friend and he’s obviously keeping something from you?” Kun offers. “That’s normal, Ten. You always bother Sicheng until he speaks his mind. You want your friend to open up to you.”

Ten lifts his face from the pillow to shoot Kun a glum look. “This feels different. It’s not like I need my friends to tell me everything, you guys are allowed to keep things to yourself. I just… this is different, somehow,” Ten grumbles, biting his lip and sitting up, pulling the pillow to his chest.

“You’re trying to navigate a friendship with someone who _used_ to be your entire world who’s basically a stranger now,” Kun reminds him. “Maybe he doesn’t owe you any explanations, but you were hurt when he left you. That’s allowed. You’re allowed to be frustrated, and you’re allowed to want answers. Just because Yuta hasn’t given you any, that doesn’t mean you have to get over it in and move on immediately.”

The statement hits Ten like a bag of bricks and he blinks. He supposes Kun is right; something had shifted when he saw Yuta at the top of their staircase after it took him six years to convince himself he’d never see him again.

_Be grateful,_ something inside of him said. _He’s here and that’s all that matters._

He forced himself to forget the look of Yuta’s smile and how it made him feel, all the things Yuta had ever done for him and all the things Yuta had done _to_ him in turn for something resembling a normal friendship with him.

His relationship with Yuta had never been something normal, though, not when Yuta came into his life and changed it completely before vanishing just as quickly as he came.

🌼🌼🌼

Yuta flinches as Ten pats a sanitizing wipe on his wounded chin. His knuckles have already been bandaged, and Ten is working on cleaning the last injury as gently as he can. After he applies the bandage, he sighs, making Yuta look at him.

“You don’t have to keep doing that,” Ten mumbles, guilty and ashamed. “They always make fun of me. It’s okay.” It’s the same group of kids who target him in dodgeball and push him into the ground, the same group of kids who have been doing it since Ten moved here. “I’m used to it now, so you don’t have to fight them for me. You keep getting in trouble, and you keep getting hurt,” he says, folding his hands in his lap.

“They’re stupid. I hate it when they talk to you like that and push you around. They started it, so what’s the problem?” Yuta says with a scowl. “Why are you used to it? You shouldn’t be. You should hit them back, too.”

“Grandma doesn’t like it when I fight,” Ten mutters. His hands grip his pants tightly, his knuckles turning white. He hates feeling helpless, hates it when Yuta gets hurt for him.

But Yuta only looks at him and puts his hand over Ten’s, easing their grip. “Then I’ll fight for you,” he says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Ten meets his eye, and Yuta grins widely. “As long as I’m here, I’ll be your protector!”

Ten stares back at Yuta’s face, so certain and bright, and wonders how he got so lucky.

🌼🌼🌼

Yuta comes over that night while Kun and Sicheng are out with Johnny and Jaehyun. Ten has a design he’s working on for a denim set, and Yuta gives helpful input.

Ten’s mind is still on his conversation with Kun, though, and it’s obvious when he drops his pen and flips on the TV instead.

Yuta mutes the TV as soon as it’s on and asks, “What’s going on?”

Ten’s lips turn into a thin line. “There’s nothing wrong.” If he says it with enough conviction, maybe Yuta will let it go. If Ten were only so lucky.

“You know I can always tell when something’s up,” Yuta says back, grinning like he knows something Ten doesn’t.

And Yuta is right. Maybe that’s why Ten snaps.

“Don’t say things like that,” he mutters, fists balling up at his sides. He feels his eyebrows furrow and hears his heart in his ears as he stands from the couch and walks away.

Too much.

Yuta’s grin drops into a confused frown. “Like what?” he asks lowly, defensive.

Ten scoffs at his nerve. “Don’t say things like you still know me,” he answers like it’s obvious. “You might want to pick up where we left off, but it’s been a damn long time. We’re different. _I’m_ different,” he says through gritted teeth, but he knows it’s a lie, knows that everything’s the same as when he was nine years old and holding Yuta’s hand through the forest in their shared backyard.

He knows Yuta can probably see through his bullshit from a mile away, and he hates that. When Yuta crosses his arms over his chest, Ten knows he doesn’t buy any of it. “What’s wrong with wanting to pick up where we left off?” he asks, annoyance starting to leak from his tone.

“What’s wrong with it?” Ten almost laughs at the absurdity of it. “You _left,”_ he cries out, rawer than he intended. “You left without telling me you were ever gonna leave, _really_ leave, then all you did was send a few letters, and even _those_ stopped coming,” he shouts.

Ten doesn’t think about himself, age nine, sitting in front of Yuta’s door every day for a month, waiting for a boy who wasn’t coming back. “You knew you were my only friend. And maybe you could do well wherever you went, but I was back to getting the shit beat out of me after you were gone,” he seethes. He doesn’t think about the amount of times everyone else laughed while someone pushed him into the lake without warning or kicked him into the dirt for no reason. He remembers the expression on his grandmother’s face, the disappointment clear as day, when he began fighting back years later, when he finally knew how to.

_You’re just like your father,_ she had sighed as she bandaged his bloody wounds, tending to all of his bruises.

Ten absentmindedly rubs over the rough skin of his knuckles and watches Yuta’s form on his couch become blurry with tears, asking himself why all he feels is anger, wonders why he can’t just be grateful for the boy on his couch that he thought was gone for good.

“I never wanted to leave,” Yuta says, but the ringing in Ten’s ears is louder.

“But you did,” Ten snaps back. “You think we’re just supposed to go back to how things were? Do you know how it felt to be left alone again?” _Do you know how much you meant to me?_ he wants to scream.

“I didn’t want to leave!” Yuta repeats, louder, standing to his feet. “I was ten, what was I supposed to do about it?” he shouts.

Ten knows there are ugly tears rolling off of his chin and hitting the floor, but he feels like he might combust if he doesn’t keep talking. “Anything, anything would have been better than two letters.” He lets out a stuttered breath, his whole frame trembling. “You were my best friend, you were—” _Everything._ A broken sob poorly disguised as a laugh tumbles from his lips. “Why did you go?” he finally rasps out, the question that spent years weighing him down. 

They stand in silence after that, the only sounds Ten’s shallow breaths punctuating the tension between them. A part of Ten is berating himself for being irrational, knowing that Yuta _was_ just ten at the time and people move for all sorts of reasons.

The bigger part of him is still that nine year old boy, sitting in the dirt next to the white rose that the two of them grew together, waiting for his best friend to come up from behind and pinch his cheeks again.

“We had to go,” Yuta answers quietly. In the next moment, he’s out the door, and Ten is left with tears staining his cheeks in the middle of his empty apartment with no more answers than he had before.

🌼🌼🌼

“Will you still be here when I come back?”

Ten marvels at the orange sunset reflected in Yuta’s eyes. “Yeah. I’m always here.”

“Are you sure?” Yuta’s jiggling his leg up and down, something Ten knows he only does when he’s nervous. Every time he has to leave town, he asks the same question, jiggling his right leg and biting his bottom lip.

Ten resists the strong temptation to roll his eyes at the question, because even if that’s what he normally does, he knows that’s not what Yuta needs right now. It feels different this time. Instead, he grins softly at Yuta and reaches out to hold his hand. Every other knuckle is wrapped in a band-aid that Ten applied himself. The skin of his fingers rubs against the rough material of the band-aids, and he bumps his forehead with Yuta’s, telling him, “For the last time, Yuu—” He gives him an extra strong squeeze so Yuta knows, _really_ knows he’s not alone. “I’m sure.”

🌼🌼🌼

Ten makes it a habit to go to work as early as he can and return as late as possible. He goes to the office on weekends when he doesn’t need to, if only to avoid the concerned looks that Kun sends him when he gets the chance to. He stops going to Sicheng’s floor because he doesn’t want a lecture from him either, and even turns his back to Johnny’s worried gazes when he knows the concealer isn’t doing much to hide the circles under his eyes. Renjun and Yangyang exchanged troubled looks with each other when they think Ten can’t see them, but he ignores those, too.

This is what he’s been doing for years. It’s easy enough to jump back into old habits when he knows just the right tricks to get people off of his back.

He thinks he knows, anyways, but he mistakenly underestimated Kun’s resolve when it comes to confrontation because Kun shows up at his office during lunch and demands Ten take a break. Baekhyun walks by just as Kun is standing in the middle of Ten and all of his coworkers, glaring daggers into his friend.

“It’s lunch, take a damn break, Ten. You’ve been here since 6 this morning, your work will still be there in an hour,” Baekhyun demands, forcefully turning on the screensaver of Ten’s work desktop. Ten whines, but it comes out pitiful from how tired he is. Kun grabs his elbow and lifts him out of the chair, leading him out of the office. “I’ll have him back later, don’t worry,” he says to Ten’s coworkers before pulling him out of the building.

“We’re getting pho,” Kun declares, looping his arm through Ten’s and steering him in the direction of the nearest pho restaurant. Ten lets him, dragging his feet along the sidewalk all the way, but it doesn’t deter Kun.

When they get to the restaurant, Kun sits Ten down at a table and sits across from him, ordering for the two of them. Then his attention is on Ten, eyes sharp, and Ten feels himself shrinking under his gaze.

They don’t say anything for a while, and Ten’s eyes get shifty under Kun’s watchful ones. Eventually, Kun says, “You remember the last time you did this?”

Ten’s breath catches in his throat. “Kun—” he tries weakly.

“I remember. It was two years ago,” Kun interrupts, plowing on. “Two years ago, you went home because your grandma died, then you came back and worked until you couldn’t stand on your own two feet anymore. Two years ago, I got a call from the hospital saying you’d collapsed from exhaustion.” Ten winces at the onslaught of facts Kun is reciting.

Kun’s face, hard as stone, takes on a gentler expression. “Ten, Sicheng and I love you. We want what’s best for you, to care for you, but you need to let us. Will you?” he asks, reaching across the table to hold Ten’s hand.

Ten looks down at their hands and breaks. He feels his shoulders drop as the tension in his body snaps, leaving him an empty shell. “Yes,” he whispers.

Kun’s thumb rhythmically strokes Ten’s hand. “It’s been three weeks, Ten,” he says softly. “What happened with you and Yuta?”

There’s silence for a beat while Ten swallows drily and bites his bottom lip. “I—I fucked up,” he croaks out. “I may have unloaded, like, sixteen years of grief on him.” He winces as he says it, realizing how overburdened his outburst had been and doesn’t blame Yuta for walking out on him.

“You asked for answers, then?” Kun asks. Ten nods. “Did you get any?”

Ten shakes his head dejectedly. “I honestly just yelled at him for things that weren’t his fault, and then he got mad and left. I don’t—” He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated at himself. “I don’t know what else I was expecting. Poor guy is willing to be friends again, and all I do is scream at him. He doesn’t owe me anything, but—”

“He doesn’t owe you answers,” Kun interrupts, agreeing. “He doesn’t. But he’s keeping something from you, something that maybe doesn’t directly involve you, but something that affected you anyways,” he continues. “And it affected you in big ways. Maybe he doesn’t _have_ to tell you anything, but it’s a little unfair of him to expect you two to just be, I don’t know, entirely normal again. Not to mention it’s been almost twenty years since you last saw him or heard from him.” Kun takes a sip of his water while Ten slumps lower in his chair with each sentence.

“I hate when you make sense,” Ten grumbles as their pho arrives. He sits back up and squeezes a lime wedge into his bowl as Kun squirts hoisin sauce in his. “Am I being dramatic?”

“Yes,” comes Kun’s immediate answer. Ten pouts, stirring his noodles around. “But you’re always dramatic. It’s okay. If Yuta really knows you, he should’ve expected it,” he says, taking his first slurp of noodles.

Ten sighs tiredly. “What am I supposed to do now? It’s not like I hate him, I just want to… I just want to know.” He sips on his broth with a spoon. Already, he’s feeling years younger, the comforting soup warming him up from the inside.

Kun chews for a moment before answering. “Just talk to him. And you have to decide if you want to keep up the friendship even if he’s never willing to tell you anything about why he left or why he stopped communicating.”

Ten chews the inside of his cheek and nods, knowing Kun is right. For now, he slurps his noodles and spends the rest of the lunch trying to wipe the drops of broth off of Kun’s face.

* * *

“Are you free after work tonight?” Johnny asks, settling his weight on Ten’s desk.

Ten peels his eyes away from his monitor and up to Johnny. “Yeah. Why, need something?” he replies, saving the design he has on his computer for a new T-shirt line.

“We have the new chokers back from production,” Johnny starts. “I was wondering if you would help me practice taking photos of them for the model shoot on Monday?” he requests, grinning.

“What, no one else is available?” Ten prods, even though he doesn’t mind.

“I just want to practice.” Ten levels Johnny with a questioning look. “Fine, I think the choker would look really good on you because of all of your piercings,” Johnny relents.

Ten flutters his eyelashes dramatically. “I’m sure it would,” he drawls, making Johnny chuckle. “I didn’t put earrings in all of my piercings today, though.”

“Don’t worry, I have some in mind that I can bring you,” Johnny says. “There’s this club that lets me take photos at their place while they’re open, and they have surprisingly good lighting…”

Ten makes a confused noise. “You’re asking me to go clubbing? Just us two?”

Johnny shakes his head. “I might have invited Kun, too,” he says, a subtle blush gracing his cheeks.

Now Ten is amused. “Doyoung too?” he questions. Johnny nods. “I’m going to be a _fourth-_ wheel?” Ten exclaims.

“Not so loud!” Johnny rushes to say, but Renjun and Yangyang are already snickering at their desks across from Ten’s. Johnny groans in exasperation. “I just didn’t want Kun to be freaked out with only me and Doyoung,” he pleads. “And I really do want to take photos of the choker,” he adds sincerely.

Ten rolls his eyes. “Fine, but only because it’s a Friday night,” he says. He figures he could use the night out anyways, after working for a few weeks straight.

Johnny’s face brightens up. “Great! It’ll be fun. I’ll text you the address and time after work,” he promises, standing from Ten’s desk and walking back to his own.

Ten sighs and looks back at his monitor, thinking about his outfit for the night.

* * *

The club Johnny had texted him earlier is busy enough, and the bouncer lets Ten and Kun in for free when they mention Johnny’s name. Johnny and Doyoung are standing at the bar together with drinks in their hands, and Johnny happily waves them over when he spots them.

Ten and Kun make their way through crowds to get to the bar where Johnny hugs them both and Doyoung only hugs Kun, sticking his tongue out at Ten. Ten does the same thing back until Kun rolls his eyes and slides him his favorite drink, which Ten downs happily. He turns to Johnny and shouts, “Let’s take these photos before I have another one of those.” He gestures to his empty drink and smirks when the bartender winks at him.

“Wait until later to jump down that guy’s throat,” Johnny requests, fishing into his pants pocket and taking out a ring-sized box.

Ten gasps. “You’re proposing in a club?” he exclaims gleefully.

Johnny pops open the lid of the box to reveal loose earrings. “You wish,” he says back, handing the earrings to Ten one by one until his ears are full of them. “Your makeup and outfit are perfect for the choker,” he compliments, handing said choker to Ten from his bag.

Ten clips it onto his neck easily. “Obviously, I helped Yangyang design it,” he huffs. He can’t see it on himself, but he can imagine that the black material matches well with his dark clothes and makeup. Johnny clips its white counterpart onto Kun’s neck delicately, and Ten wants to gag at Kun’s red cheeks. Kun shrugs off his cardigan and is left in a white, fishnet tank top and the tightest pair of white, ripped jeans he owns, the exact opposite of Ten’s black band tank top and leather pants. The white looks better on Kun, with his pastel-dyed hair and cheeks lightly dusted in pink.

“So, how do you want us?” Kun yells over the noise, and Ten can swear he can see Johnny pop a boner on the spot at the question. Doyoung’s evil grin confirms it, and this time Ten does gag.

“Just—dancing is fine, I’ll shoot you guys dancing together,” Johnny stutters.

“Great, then we’re off.” Ten can’t drag Kun to the dance floor quickly enough. He makes sure he and Kun stay close enough to the sides so Johnny can shoot them without getting throttled by other dancers. He pulls Kun close and dances, mumbling into his ear, “You need to watch the way you word things.”

Kun huffs a laugh that Ten hopes Johnny captures and says, “I’m well aware of what I say.”

Ten’s eyes widen and he cackles, proud of his friend, then he loses himself to dance. This is something he’s used to, dancing until his body burns hot with Kun by his side. The two of them move together closely until they glance at Johnny and he gives them a thumbs up with his camera lowered. Once Johnny has placed the chokers back into his bag and secured his camera away, Kun pulls Doyoung away from the bar and onto the floor until all four of them are dancing together.

Ten isn’t even drunk—far from it, really—but he still feels the buzz of ecstasy under his skin as he presses up against Doyoung, making him grimace. He laughs, and Doyoung grins along with him eventually, shaking his head and dancing with him. There’s a pair of sweet lips on his neck, and he turns his head to find Kun behind him, and they smile happily at each other.

A song comes up that Ten doesn’t recognize, so he uses it as an excuse to make his way back to the bar to catch his breath. Normally, he would be able to last longer dancing, but he’s been running on fumes for the past couple of weeks, and it’s starting to wear him down. He asks for a water from the bartender and gulps it down easily. The bartender laughs at how quickly he finishes it and refills the glass quickly. Ten grins at him in thanks and turns back to the floor, watching his friends dance together.

Kun’s face is so lively and full of joy. Ten thinks he deserves it.

“Gonna join them again?” the bartender asks, leaning on the counter towards Ten. His arms are well-sculpted and his face is young and handsome.

Ten takes a beat to think about it and ends up shaking his head. “They should have their own night,” he says, glancing back at how happy Kun seems to be.

“Want another drink, then? On the house, since you came with Johnny,” the bartender adds. Ten shakes his head again. “Then… would you be willing to wait here until my shift is over to talk some more?” he asks with a sly but inviting grin.

Ten blinks. He could; this man is attractive, and nothing is stopping Ten from potentially going home with him.

The image of Yuta leaving his apartment with a pained expression flashes through his head.

“I’m flattered,” Ten says, genuinely, “but I think I’ll have to pass. Thank you for the offer.”

The bartender shrugs his shoulders and stands back up. “Can’t say I’m not disappointed,” he admits with a hand on the back of his neck and a sheepish smile.

“I’m sure another pretty boy will come by,” Ten assures, winking. “I think I’m going to head out. I hope you have a good night,” he tells the man.

“You too. Stay safe,” the bartender says, giving Ten a warm smile. Ten returns it and gives one more look at his friends, then escapes the club without being noticed.

The cold night air nips at his bare arms, but it’s a welcome feeling compared to how sweaty he felt inside. It brings clarity to his head, and it allows him to ponder why he thought of Yuta in that moment he considered going home with the bartender.

Ten is in love with Yuta. He’s known this since he was fifteen and wondering why he couldn’t stop thinking about a boy he hadn’t seen or heard from in six years. Ten figured since he discovered that, acknowledged it, he could move on. There were more boys for him to fall in love with instead of the one that protected him from the harsh blows of his peers and the one who grew a white rose with him in their backyard together.

Years of trying to forget Yuta were all for nothing once he fell on him at the top of their stairs.

It was worse this time, too; Yuta wasn’t a loud-mouthed kid with bandaids on his shins anymore. His jaw was sharper, arms toned, hair dyed to a shade that suited him too well, but his bright laughter and round eyes made Ten’s heart beat just as hard as it had when they were children.

Are his feelings worth loving Yuta from a distance that feels too close? Would it be worth it to push aside his itching for answers in turn for Yuta in his life again?

Like a dream, Yuta appears in front of him in the dark night of the city, cigarette smoke in the air.

There are a handful of other clubs lining the street leading back to the train station, and Yuta is standing outside of one of them on the sidewalk with another man, taller than him, who’s standing too close and leaning towards Yuta’s face to talk to him. Yuta doesn’t even notice Ten approaching; his eyes are glazed over, and Ten can tell that whatever the man is saying to him is going in one ear and out the other.

There was a life before Yuta came into Ten’s like a hurricane for two years and leaving just as swiftly. There was a life after him where Ten accomplished everything on his own, or with Kun and Sicheng, and Yuta hadn’t been there. Ten has lived without him before and he can live without him again.

But he doesn’t want to.

He takes confident strides up to Yuta and says, “Hey, babe, sorry I’m late,” as he slings his arm around Yuta’s shoulders. Yuta blinks once and turns his head to Ten, quiet.

The man’s eyes widen at the use of the pet-name. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t know he had a partner. I’ll back off,” he says, hands up in surrender as he re-enters the club.

Ten relaxes when the man is no longer in sight and slides his arm off of Yuta’s shoulders. “I’m headed home. Did you want to come with me?” he offers gently.

Yuta is still looking in the direction that the man exited towards, but he nods and softly grabs Ten’s hand. Ten squeezes and leads him away from the club, walking in the direction of the train station. 

They walk in silence with Ten taking occasional glances towards Yuta. He’s in nothing but a thin tank top and jeans, though Ten isn’t faring much better. The faraway look in his eyes has yet to let up, but Ten doesn’t want to force him to say anything, so they continue on their way home in silence. Yuta doesn’t let go of Ten’s hand once.

The two of them exit the train and pass by a park with a large soccer field. Yuta stops them in their tracks and stares before pulling Ten in the direction of the field, and Ten lets him. It’s empty, since it’s late, and Yuta leads them to the middle of the field before he sits them down together, finally letting go of Ten’s hand.

With both of his arms now free, Yuta brings his knees up to his chest and hugs them close. Ten lets his legs splay out in front of him and leans his hands back on the grass, cold from the nighttime.

It’s still quiet between them, but Ten lets them sit in it. They spent enough time as children, staring at a flower bud in silence, willing it to grow. This isn’t much different.

“You remember my mom, right?” Yuta asks suddenly. Ten doesn’t understand, but he nods because he does remember the one time he and Yuta returned home from school to find Yuta’s mother standing in front of Yuta’s apartment door, giving them both sweet smiles. “When she came that one time, it really freaked my dad out. He said we had to leave, but I guess I just assumed he meant another business trip since he took me on those pretty often. That’s why I never told you I was moving,” he says, quietly into his knees.

Ten swallows hard, but Yuta keeps going. “Once I figured out that we weren’t going back, I just felt so bad, I decided not to say anything. But I wanted to keep talking to you, so I sent a letter.” Ten nods, remembering the first letter he got from Yuta after he’d left. The letter made his week. “Then I sent one more, and Dad told me I had to stop,” Yuta says, voice thick.

“Stop? Why?” Ten asks before he can stop himself.

Yuta hunches his shoulder up higher. “I guess my mom was intercepting the letters because she found out where we lived, again,” he says, quiet as a whisper. Ten feels his eyes widen, and his breath catches in his throat. “When I first met you, I didn’t really know what we were moving for. I was just excited for the change. I didn’t know at the time it wasn’t normal for your mom to kinda, I don’t know, push you around and yell at you over everything. She gave me a lot of gifts to try and make up for it, but eventually Dad had enough and moved us. Once he found out she was intercepting the letters to find us, she went to prison. The sentence wasn’t very long, but it was long enough for Dad and I to move from Chicago to… here. Seoul. So we were long gone by the time my mom served her sentence,” he explains clinically.

There are words at the tip of Ten’s tongue, _I’m sorry, I didn’t know, I’m so sorry,_ but they don’t make their way out before Yuta speaks again. “Dad wouldn’t let me send you letters again even though Mom was in prison. What she did made him pretty paranoid, so I couldn’t send you mail anymore,” Yuta says sadly. “But I figured at that point, you probably hated me anyways, so I thought that maybe it was for the best.”

“I didn’t,” Ten says instantly. Yuta looks up from his knees, astonished. “I was angry for a while, and to be honest I guess that never really went away, which I guess is why I yelled at you the other night,” he tells Yuta guiltily. “I’m sorry about that. I’m sorry for being so angry when I didn’t know anything.”

He watches Yuta swallow thickly, and he thinks that Yuta’s eyes might be glassy with tears. “I never explained why I left or why I stopped sending letters. It only makes sense you’d be mad,” Yuta recognizes thoughtfully.

Ten hums, the guilt still simmering, but no longer an insistent sharpness in his chest. “That guy, in front of the club,” Ten remembers. “Was he bothering you?” The man had retreated easily, but the look on Yuta’s face as he stood over him sticks in Ten’s mind.

Something in Yuta’s expression flickers, like a light dimming in a dark room, and Ten almost apologizes again, but Yuta says, “Remember how I said I was doing soccer stuff until I got injured?” The prompted memory seems unrelated to Ten again, but he nods anyways. “It was about four months ago. I was in the K3 League and was selected for K2 tryouts. It was an opportunity to go pro, you know?” Yuta says, and Ten is shocked at how far Yuta had come in his soccer ability, though he’d always known he was meant for the bright lights and enormous fields. “I was dating some guy at the time, we were going out for a while. Long story short, he pushed me down the stairs. I missed the tryouts. I’ve been recovering from a broken collarbone and elbow since then.”

Silence has never been louder in Ten’s ears. Somehow, Yuta keeps talking. “I go to clubs sometimes, just to fill up my time since I can’t play soccer. I like going alone. That guy earlier, he really sounded like my ex.” A beat passes. “He really sounded like him,” he repeats hollowly.

“He pushed you down the stairs of our apartment?” Ten asks. His voice sounds far away, and all he can see is how steep those stairs are, how much fear he’d felt when he nearly fell down them so many months ago.

Yuta nods. Ten has never experienced red filling his vision so quickly.

Something about his face must change, because Yuta glances over and gives him a small quirk of his lips. “My ex got absolutely _pummeled_ by Doyoung, since he saw it happen. I’ve got a restraining order on him, but I think Johnny and Jaehyun paid him a visit at some point to intimidate him into never coming near me again anyways. And look, I’m healing pretty nicely!” Yuta says cheerfully, pulling the collar of his tank top lower to expose more of his chest. There’s a small, pink scar on his skin that looks like it could tear if Ten scratched at it enough. Yuta lets his shirt go and mirrors Ten’s position, putting his hands behind him. “But seriously, what are the odds I’d date someone just like my mom?” he says with a grin that lacks any humor.

There’s a constant ringing in Ten’s ears, an undercurrent to all of Yuta’s words. “I’ll kill him,” he says simply.

Yuta blinks at him, shocked, before laughing. The sound of it brings a bit of clarity to Ten’s head. “You’ll kill him? You’re the one who always cried whenever I got into fights,” he giggles.

Ten pouts despite himself. “Hey, I got into plenty of fights after you left,” he mumbles. He sits up and picks at the grass by his hands. Yuta joins him shortly, and the two of them pick grass together in silence, throwing the ripped blades onto each other’s thighs. “You didn’t… you didn’t deserve all of that, you know,” Ten says quietly, placing a blade of grass on top of the smooth skin of Yuta’s hand.

Yuta pauses in his ministrations before resuming them, placing his own piece of grass on Ten’s hand. “I know,” he says back, looking down. He inches his hand closer to Ten’s until his pinky bumps against his. “What do I deserve, then?” he asks, his eyes still gazing at the two of their hands.

Ten looks at where their fingers are brushing. “Someone who cherishes you and understands you. Someone who loves you,” he says softly.

“Someone who will buy me white roses,” Yuta murmurs, moving his fingers slowly in between Ten’s. “Someone like you?” He has a shy grin and pink cheeks as he looks at Ten.

Ten lifts his gaze from their hands to Yuta’s face and suddenly hopes Yuta can’t feel how sweaty his palms are becoming. “Is that what you want?” He hears the tremor in his own voice and prays that Yuta didn’t catch it.

Luck isn’t on Ten’s side because Yuta gives him a smirk. “It is,” he answers. “I think it’s something I’ve wanted for a while.”

Ten blinks, making sure this isn’t a dream where he wakes up in his childhood bed at fifteen years old. He grasps Yuta’s fingers between his and bites his tongue, and he doesn’t wake up. He hopes he never does.

Yuta’s face is close, he realizes, enough to feel his breath on his lips, and it makes Ten dizzy, fills him with a longing so intense he swears Yuta isn’t right in front of him. He takes one more glance at Yuta’s hooded eyes and connects their lips, soft, welcoming.

Yuta’s lips against Ten’s feels like the heat of summer and the bite of winter, orange sunsets and green dragonflies, cool lakes and minnows around their shins. Kissing Yuta is running through trees together, breathless. It’s sitting on a soccer field a world away from where Ten considered home, finding it again in the middle of the night in Seoul.

When Yuta pulls back, eyes glistening and smiling with a flush high on his cheeks, Ten knows he’s home.

🌼🌼🌼

The smooth rocks underneath Ten’s feet are cool, and the water of the lake is reflecting orange against the sun on the horizon. It laps at his legs, and he has to keep stopping Yuta from getting the bandaids on his knees wet, but it’s futile as Yuta splashes water at him, and Ten has no choice but to splash him right back.

They laugh until their cheeks hurt and they’re panting for breath in between giggles.

Ten hopes he can have this with Yuta forever.

**Author's Note:**

> if you made it to the end, thank you so so much for reading ! if you have any thoughts/comments, please leave them in the comments/my cc/twt! again, thank you so much, it means the world to me if you read this fic.
> 
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